I Went By Footpath And By Stile Beyond Where Bustle Ends, Strayed Here A Mile And There A Mile And Called Upon Some Friends. On Certain Ones I Had Not Seen For Years Past Did I Call, And Then On Others Who Had Been The Oldest Friends Of All. It Was The Time Of Midsummer When They Had Used To Roam; But Now, Though Tempting Was The Air, I Found Them All At Home. I Spoke To One And Other Of Them By Mound And Stone And Tree Of Things We Had Done Ere Days Were Dim, But They Spoke Not To Me.